M. Beaton: Death Of An Addict

"Hamish, I'm terrified."

He leaned forward and kissed her. It was all he could do. His mind went this way and that, but he could not see any hope for them. He was glad of the pain from the wire binding his wrists and ankles. It took his mind off, just a little, from his forthcoming death.

Then he cocked his head. "Listen, another boat." He listened again. "Sounds like a fishing boat."

"Ahoy there," called a voice.

"Get your boat away, man. You're right across our bows."

"I've run out o' baccy," whined the other voice.

"Archie Macleod, by all that's holy," said Hamish.

"Who's he?"

"Local fisherman. What's he doing out this time of day? And he doesn't smoke."

"Should I shoot him, boss?" One of the henchmen.

"No, I'll give him a packet of cigarettes. Go downstairs the pair of you and keep them quiet. Don't want any shouts for help."

"Bring your boat alongside," yelled Jimmy.

" Verra kind of you, sir."

Soon both engines were cut.

"You're going to a lot of trouble for a packet of cigarettes," said Jimmy, eyeing the small figure of Archie Macleod with distaste. "Here, take the whole packet and be off with you."

The fishing boat drifted a little away.

"Och, I cannae reach," said Archie. "Boys, a bit o' help here!"

Suddenly fishermen came racing up the companionway of the fishing boat, seized grappling irons and pulled Jimmy's boat close to their own.

Jimmy struggled to get his gun out of his coat pocket, but Archie had also seized a grappling iron and with tremendous force for such a small man, he rammed it straight into Jimmy's chest and sent him sprawling on the deck. Archie leapt onto Jimmy's boat and held an evil-looking gutting knife to his throat, just as his two henchmen erupted onto the deck.

"They shoot us," panted Archie, "and afore the bullet hits me, you're dead."

"Don't shoot.'" shouted Jimmy, his eyes dilating with terror.

"Throw your guns in the water," said Archie, kneeling on Jimmy's chest.

"Do as they say," howled Jimmy, beside himself with terror. He had caused people to be tortured, killed and maimed but never in his unsavoury life had he himself ever been in such peril.

The men threw their guns in the water.

"Tie them all up," ordered Archie. There was a splash as Jimmy's skipper left the wheelhouse and threw himself overboard.

"Silly man," said Archie. "He will not be getting far."

Once Jimmy and the others were all trussed up, Archie made his way down to the saloon.

"Och, it iss yourself, Hamish," he said cheerily. "And your young leddy."

"I wass neffer so glad to see anyone in my life, Archie," said Hamish. "Can you get this wire off? The lady first."

Archie sawed at Olivias bonds. "You'll owe me a new gutting knife, Hamish," he said. "It'll neffer be the same after cutting wire."

"I'll buy you a gold one," said Olivia, and burst into tears.

"Dinnae greet," said Archie. "It's all ower. We got them all."

When he and Olivia were free, Hamish massaged his wrists and said, "How did you know?"

"It was herself, Angela, Mrs. Brodie. You said something to her about a black sheep that had to be put down and herself kenned you didnae have a black sheep and she thought they looked a lot o' villains so she rushes into the Lochdubh bar shouting you've been shanghaied. Then she goes running around the village, calling the folks out o' their houses. Man, I had a rare time. It wass like the movies."

The boat began to move again. "David Queen is at the wheel o' my fishing boat," said Archie. "He's towing us in." Suddenly the sound of the engine cut.

"What now?" asked Hamish nervously.

"Och, he'll have stopped to pull the skipper o' this boat out of the water."

Sure enough, there came cries and then the thump of someone being hauled on deck. Then the engine started up again.

"Davie Queens been on the ship-to-shore radio to tell folks you're all right. Who's your leddy?"

"This is Detective Chief Inspector Chater from Glasgow, Archie."

"My, my, imagine a bonny wee lassie like yourself getting mixed up with killers like thon.' What you need is a nice man like Hamish here to marry and have some bairns. I wass chust saying the other day to the wife, it's time our Hamish got married."

Hamish's face flamed scarlet. "Drop it, Archie. You're a worse danger than Jimmy White."

Olivia was standing on the deck beside Hamish as they approached the harbour at Lochdubh. The harbour was crowded. It looked as if the whole village had turned out.

A great cheer went up as Hamish and Olivia walked up the weedy stone steps to the harbour.

Hamish hoped he wouldn't cry. They were all there: Angela and her husband, Dr. Brodie, the Currie sisters, minister Mr. Wellington and his large tweedy wife.

Hamish went straight up and gave Angela a hug. "You're a clever girl," he said.

"I knew something was wrong when you talked about that black sheep," said Angela, "and your poor girlfriend looked frightened to death."

For the first time in her career, Olivia felt reduced in status.

"We had better go straight to police headquarters, Macbeth," she snapped, "after we have seen Jimmy and his associates taken away."

Angela gave her a look of dislike. "Who's she?" she asked Hamish.

"Detective Inspector Chater."

"Oh, really? Doesn't the word 'thank you' enter her vocabulary?"

Olivia felt ashamed of herself. "I'm sorry," she said to Angela. "I owe you my life, and Archie."

"You can thank them later," said Hamish. "Let's go to the police station and phone."

"What happened?" cried Angela, and several voices added theirs to hers, demanding to know the story.

Olivia, who was still shaking with fright and nerves, could only marvel at the calm way Hamish told the story of their abduction. The crowd was silent, hanging on every word. Although she far outranked Hamish, she had to wait patiently, because this was Lochdubh, where Hamish Macbeth was king.

"We all know drug money corrupts," said the chief constable heavily.

It was early evening. The table in the conference room at police headquarters was surrounded by top brass. Hamish and Olivia sat side by side at the end of the table.

"I cannot see how word could have possibly leaked out," said Daviot. "I think someone recognised Macbeth and told Lachie."

"Who was Callum Short?" asked Hamish suddenly.

They all looked at him.

"The man who was strangled and thrown in the harbour."

"Why?" asked Daviot.

"Because it is just possible he might have been the informant. It's just a hunch."

Detective Jimmy Anderson was there. "We checked up on him. He was a small-time villain."

Blair stared at the table. He longed for a drink but there was only Perrier water. Thank God he had played his snouts close to his chest. He had destroyed the book with the names of his informants and had replaced it with a new record without Callum's name.

"I asked for a photograph to be sent to the hotel. Was it ever sent?"

"I'll find out," said Daviot, and nodded to his secretary, who went out of the room.

"Despite all that, the operation has been a great success," said Daviot. "Jimmy White arrested and the others being rounded up."

The representatives of the Glasgow police talked at length about how their troops were being massed for dawn raids on several addresses.

Daviot's secretary, Helen, came back in. "Well?" demanded Daviot.

"The photographs and the file on Callum Short are missing," she said.

"What about the computer log?"

"There's nothing on that."

"What!" exclaimed Jimmy Anderson. "There was first thing this morning because I looked it up myself."

"This could mean that someone in headquarters leaked the information about the scam to Callum and Callum tried to sell it," said Hamish.